


Five Christmases and One Wedding

by Kinthinia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Feelstide, M/M, Phil Coulson's bad luck Christmases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinthinia/pseuds/Kinthinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has very bad luck when it comes to Christmas. Clint is determined to change his experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Christmases and One Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Christmas is actually Clint and Phil's anniversary - they got together during/post an undercover mission over Christmas.

**Christmas '01**

As a rule, Phil never made plans for Christmas. Firstly, he had no family and secondly, any and every attempt at making plans on Christmas always crashed and burned. Case in point; he'd been dating Sam for a year now and Sam had invited him to his parent's for Christmas. They'd only just arrived; Phil had just set his last bag down in the bedroom when his emergency cell phone blared at him. Phil sighed and looked at Sam apologetically; Sam scowled and glared at his phone. Sam didn't know what Phil did –as far as he was concerned, Phil was a security consultant to a paranoid billionaire who lived in Algeria and would frequently demand investigations after he'd woken from a nightmare. And if Phil came back a little bruised, he would just say that the billionaire hadn't been paranoid for once. But the point was, when the emergency call went off, Phil wasn't surprised. He was mostly resigned, unlike Sam who appeared to be going from angry to despondent. Between the army and now S.H.I.E.L.D. Phil couldn't remember the last time he'd actually celebrated Christmas.

Phil answered the call with a crisp, "Coulson speaking, how may I help you Mr. Davis?" It was his code to let the caller know that he wasn't alone. "And a happy holiday to you too, sir."

"We've got a situation," Hill reported. "The Hope Bridge is under attack by a group of masked mercenaries, there are ten of them –they've taken two hostages and killed eight already." She didn't apologize for it either. "You're the closest we've got on sight."

"Yes sir, I'll be right there."

"We think Barton might be behind it," Hill added, as close to apologetic as she would get. "We lost track of him last week and we think they hired him for this stunt. They haven't made any demands yet, and we're delaying SWAT and the FBI as best we can. You've got ninety minutes, tops."

Good thing it only took about ten minutes to drive there.

"Phil!" Sam hissed, scandalized. "It's Christmas."

If only villains would stop trying to take over the world on Christmas. It wasn't like Phil asked for this to happen. "I'm sorry."

"Ask for the day off," Sam demanded. "You're supposed to meet my parents."

"I'm sorry," Phil repeated. "It could be an emergency." It was an emergency. "I have to go."

When Sam didn't protest a second time, as Phil grabbed his bag and jogged back out of the house, he knew that relationship wasn't going any further. He was pretty sure he could feel Sam's eyes on him even as he got into the rental car and drove off towards the bridge. Midway there, he pulled over and threw a Kevlar vest on underneath his sweatshirt. He tucked the second gun in his duffle into his spare holster and returned his knives to their usual positions. One in each shoe. He hated fighting with knives, but they'd got him out of more than one tight spot before. He resumed driving towards the bridge. He'd driven over it once already that morning when they drove to Sam's, but from a mile away he could see that the bridge was completely shut down.

He got out of his car and casually made his way through the onlookers. The closer he got, he could see how the gunmen were using the now-abandoned cars as a defense. Behind their perimeter, he could see the two frightened hostages. Phil sighed and rolled his sleeves up, lifting his hands above his head as he approached. Not for the first time, he appreciated the bagginess of his clothing preferences as it hid the bulk of the Kevlar and his holsters. He stepped towards their perimeter, noting the locations of each ten masked gunmen.

"I just want to talk with whoever's in charge!" he called out. "You've got hostages, you must have some demands."

They were quite the ragtag band of mercenaries. Four of them were in balaclavas and camouflage, another three were in black ski-masks with what looked like a mishmash of tactical gear. The remaining appeared to have just pulled on nylons to obscure their faces, dressed in black clothes and with leather jackets. Spotting Barton among them was impossible, if he was even present. However, the leader was much easier to identify as he lifted his hand, his middle finger the lone standing up. The men in balaclavas had semi-automatics and the ones in ski-masks each clutched a rifle. If Phil had to guess, he would say that one of the ski-masks could be Barton. A rifle would be more comfortable to him, even if it wasn't fully specialized.

"What are you, the FBI?" drawled one of the men with a nylon mask. "We don't talk with the likes of you."

"I'm just here to help," Phil said evenly. "I want to help those hostages off the bridge, I want you ten to make it out of here alive and I want the nice people behind us to be able to drive their cars when we're done."

"Shut up," hissed one of the ski-masks, kicking the speaker. He sounded like he might have a faint Southern drawl.

"And I'm not with the FBI."

"Don't matter," nylon-mask said. "You can't give us what we want."

"Try me," Phil said, watching the ski-mask interestedly.

He looked on edge, guarded, and he kept trying to shut nylon-mask up. Ski-mask seemed almost protective, less angry and authoritative as Phil would have expected a mercenary holding civilians hostage. From this angle, he couldn't see their faces. He had no way to know if either of the hostages were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents or not. He could see they were sitting together, back to back, bound in rope and probably gagged.

"Five million," nylon-mask replied flippantly.

"Done," Phil said casually.

Ski-mask did a double take. One of the balaclavas, the one who had flipped Phil off earlier, hopped onto a car hood, his attention on them. His semi-automatic was still in his grip, but it was loose, unprofessional. Much like the nylon-masked few, including the one who had been talking with Phil, they didn't seem very familiar with weapons. Ski-mask who did the double take was the only one holding his weapon properly and actually looked prepared in case something happened. In that case, it would be better to go for him first and then the few balaclava foes who looked like they might be a challenge. At worst, one of the nylons would get in a lucky shot –Phil hated making bets, but it was a good bet to assume that the men holding guns improperly were probably terrible shots.

"Five million and we'll release the hostages to you?" balaclava with the bad handle on his gun asked. "Then we're done?"

"Absolutely," Phil said.

"What's it to you?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "Who're you to pay five mil for a couple of strangers?"

Phil shrugged blandly. "My boss sent me. He wants him –I don't get paid to ask questions."

Balaclava seemed to consider this. "Fine. But I want my money first."

"It's in my car," Phil lied easily. "Let me go get it."

"Hey," Ski-mask barked. "Wait. We should check him out first, he might be packing."

"Fuck off," snarled the balaclava who was in charge. "Get the money and then we'll talk."

Phil loved when a mission went easily. He almost felt a little bad for the men stuck under the balaclava in charge. Ski-mask had the right idea –and if Phil were a betting man, he would guess that it was Clint Barton. He turned and walked back to his car, listening as there was a scuffle behind him. He turned instinctively, ducking at what he expected to be gunfire from Barton –but there was none. The nylon-mask who'd made the ridiculous demand had unarmed Barton. Phil drew his gun and fired, dropping a balaclava who was walking the perimeter. They were unorganized and flew into a panic, all except Barton who just made eye contact, raised his hands and dropped to the pavement. For a moment, Phil thought one of the hostage takers had shot him but there was no blood, no gunfire. He shot again, dropping the next two balaclavas. By then, their incompetent leader had caught onto what was going on and was shouting at his men to fire.

They had disarmed their best shooter, who had since surrendered, and the remaining two ski-masks fired at Phil. Phil ducked and rolled –keeping on the move while firing and immediately after firing was always the best course of action. The shooters had fired at his old positions and he could both of them curse as they loaded their rifles. Phil popped up, mostly covered by a truck and he fired neatly at one ski-mask who dropped without a sound. He dropped back down and heard the resounding bangs as several bullets slammed into the metal of the truck. One of them must have gone clean through the passenger window. It was definitely the uncoordinated shooting of an inexperienced amateur –the leader, with his semi-automatic had decided to join the fight. So far Phil had been keeping track of where the bullets were being fired and he had all of them accounted for, which meant none of them had decided to cut their losses and either shoot their leader or the hostages. Or Hawkeye.

Phil eased back up, peering over the hood of the truck. The balaclava was standing on top of a bus, swearing as he ineffectually tried to reload his weapon. The remaining ski-mask was scanning his surroundings, obviously trying to find him. The three nylons had picked up their comrades fallen weapons, and as Phil watched, Barton leapt across the hood of a small red car and tackled the nearest nylon. In seconds he was up again, a rifle in his hands and within seconds, the balaclava clad man had fallen down screaming in a spray of blood. The remaining ski-mask turned towards Barton, as did the two nylon masks and Phil fired. His bullet dropped the man and Barton's shots took out the remaining nylon masks. Phil got to his feet, easing around the abandoned truck as he walked towards Barton. He didn't lower his weapon.

Barton shrugged his shoulder, tossing his rifle aside and lifting his hands in mock surrender. From what Phil knew about the man, he was fairly adept at hand-to-hand. Especially to have survived this long as an assassin. Phil kept an eye on him as he picked his way between parked cars to make his way to the man.

"Aw, you gonna cuff me? Seriously?" Barton complained. "I just saved your life!"

"I don't think I was in serious harm from anyone except for maybe you," Phil replied. "I wouldn't want you to run off or something." He didn't make it a habit to carry handcuffs on him, but it was one of those items that could come in handy under any situation so he'd brought a set.

Phil suspected that in five minutes, Barton would have the cuffs undone and be gone. So he had to be quick. He did a cursory pat-down of Barton, removing a set of lock picks tucked into Barton's socks, three knives and a gun. Phil pocketed all of them, not wanting to leave them within Barton's reach. Barton grumbled under his breath as Phil headed towards the hostages. He untied their ropes and they took care of their gags. The man was in a pressed business suit, stained with sweat and dirt; he was shaking and stuttering incoherently. The other hostage was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he got to his feet without help, brushing the dirt off his suit.

"I don't think they even knew I was with S.H.I.E.L.D," Jasper said almost apologetically.

"We didn't know for sure if they'd grabbed you," Phil explained.

"Another damn Christmas ruined, eh?" Jasper said lightly. "Shit Phil. You've got the worst luck."

"Not that terrible, actually," Phil pointed out, gesturing to where Barton was reclining against a car. He'd removed his mask at some point.

"Barton?" Jasper hissed incredulously.

Phil shrugged and walked back over to his prisoner. It was the first time he'd had the pleasure of meeting the man. "Well, Mr. Barton. This way, please," he said, heading to his car.

Barton had the handcuffs off by the time they reached Phil's car. He dropped them onto the seat in front of him, bracing his arms against the car door. Jasper didn't give him a chance to do anything before he fired an icer and Barton slumped forward, unconscious. It wasn't an easy task to fold him into Phil's car and secure the seatbelt, but they got it done. And then Phil spent the remainder of Christmas day driving back to New York.

**Christmas '04**

Three years ago, Barton accepted their offer and joined the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was probably one of their best assets –except for his stubborn rebelliousness. Which was why, when Phil's phone started ringing at midnight, he answered it with an unkind, mumbled: "What's he done now?" Barton was the biggest pain in his ass.

He didn't even know it was Christmas until he got to the Triskelion at four in the morning, only to see bright Christmas lights blinking at him. The mistletoe hanging from the ceiling didn't escape his notice either. He sighed and walked to his office where security was waiting with Barton. The last two years, he'd also lost out on the chance to enjoy Christmas. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if Christmas was ever going to be enjoyable again.

Two years ago, Barton took a bullet and fell out of his perch. His handler, Ross, reported him as lost in the field. Phil got the call and was sent with a team to retrieve the body from the Appalachian Mountains. What he found there instead of Barton's dead body was a cave with a hot fire and Barton chowing down on a cooked rabbit, singing seasonal carols. Following that mishap, Barton was assigned to Phil's team. Last year, they'd been in Peru investigating a series of suspected alien signatures when a Hydra team spotted them and took them captive. By Christmas morning, Barton was bleeding out sluggishly and the Hydra agents had started putting together an alien weapon. By midafternoon, Barton was unconscious and unresponsive. By evening, Barton's heartbeat started slowing. By night, the weapon was assembled and Barton was scarcely breathing –and then S.H.I.E.L.D. found them. A few blood transfusions later and Barton was back to his old self.

Phil opened his office door and it said a lot about his expectations on Christmas day, that when the poppers went off and three people jumped forward shouting "Merry Christmas!" Phil had drawn his gun. There was a moment of silence between them. Phil tucked his gun away slowly, looking between Barton, Hill and Sitwell.

"Surprise," Barton said, uncertain. It was easy sometimes, to forget that the man was still so young. He wasn't even twenty-five yet.

"Barton here thought we should throw a surprise party for you," Jasper said, all warm affection. "This way, you can have a real celebration this year."

"No one's dying out this year, boss," Barton said, grinning uncertainly. The last three Christmases hadn't been kind to him either. Actually, Phil wasn't sure if Barton had ever had a good Christmas.

He relaxed, sighing loudly. "Alright, since I'm here, let's not waste the occasion before the red alert goes off."

Ten hours later, after a welcome feast of tarts and turkey, the red alert went off. (An invasion of headquarters; lock down and secure absolutely everything.) They were stuck in the Triskelion on red alert for an additional twenty-two hours before they found the culprit. A guard, unconscious at his station. Apparently, his head had fallen forward in his sleep and hit the silent alarm.

**Christmas '06**

Phil never wanted to spend another minute in Budapest. Long story very short: Clint disobeyed orders, disappeared into the backstreets and alleys chasing after a redheaded assassin who was going to kill him. Fury was going to be pissed. He'd managed to lose one asset and failed to stop the world's most dangerous assassin. And when he got home, he'd have to get reamed out for it and then he would have to go and pack up Barton's belongings. He'd just started to get to know who Clint was, underneath all that bluster, ego and sarcasm.

Three days later, Phil wasn't sure how he felt about Budapest. He was returning with his insubordinate asset and a new recruit. Natasha Romanov wasn't like anyone he'd ever met. And for all his insubordination and stubborn silence over the last few days, Phil knew Clint had made the right choice.

Fury was still going to be pissed.

(And for the record? Last Christmas, Phil had been on his way to the convenience store near his apartment and stepped inside to a robbery in progress. It was perhaps the most embarrassing event to result in him getting shot –he'd apparently spooked the robber and got a bullet for his trouble.)

**Christmas '08**

Missions didn't count as Christmas, they were work periods. Christmas was only Christmas if Phil actually had the day off, he decided.

His suit was ruined, covered in green slime that he hoped wasn't as radioactive as it looked. The world had enough superheroes already and Phil's job kept him too busy. Also, he didn't want radioactive slime powers. For one, they were gross. For two, unless he needed a light in a dark place –a flashlight or a cell phone were far better tools to use –they were useless.

**Christmas '09**

He didn't get any radioactive superpowers, thankfully.

However, during his time spent Stark sitting, he did have the pleasure to attend the Portland Symphony Orchestra. It was probably the nicest Christmas he'd had in years –even if he did have to stop some obsessed fan.

He met Audrey.

**Christmas '10**

"I fuckin' hate Christmas," Clint snarled, yanking the knife out of his boot. "I fuckin' hate Iceland. Everything's so cold. I swear, my tongue's glued to my teeth." He threw his knife and someone screamed in pain. "That's my last one."

"If that were true," Phil retorted, "you wouldn't be talking right now." He fired calmly.

Clint snorted. "Yeah, well. I can barely feel my fingers anymore. How many more of these guys are there?"

"You tell me, Hawkeye."

"Too many," was Clint's exasperated answer. He'd run out of arrows a while ago and it was too dangerous, too overcrowded for him to start collecting his projectiles from the dead bodies. He was being inventive, as he formed another ice ball in his hands. "Behind you Coulson, forty degrees left."

Phil fired automatically. The man dropped silently, blood oozing around him. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," Clint retorted, hurling his ice balls at the men approaching them. Hydra agents. "So, how many Christmases is this?"

"I'm working, it doesn't count as Christmas," Phil said.

Clint snorted. "Easy way out! We're all supposed to get a holiday."

"I've accepted a dozen missions on Christmas day," Phil explained, shooting again. "Those ones I don't count."

"I didn't know you took holidays!"

"I met you while I was on one," Phil replied dryly, shooting a Hydra agent who was trying to sneak up on Clint.

"Shit. Really?"

"Went to meet Sam's family. Got the call about a bridge being attacked and a suspected agent in a hostage situation. I responded."

"Shit. I've ruined, like, three of your holidays."

"It's not you," Phil said. "Pretty sure it's me."

"What?" Clint joked. "That your way of breaking up with me?"

"I think we're pretty well stuck together," Phil replied.

Literally. They were surrounded and cornered in. Natasha was due back any minute though, so hopefully she would get to them before Hydra decided to capture them. Again. Phil really hated Hydra.

"Hey, so how's things with the Cellist?"

"Good, good," Phil answered smoothly. "She's moving up from Portland."

"Congrats," Clint said, lobbing another ice ball at the head of an agent. Phil almost winced in sympathy for the man. "Any diamond rings in her future?"

Phil dropped his empty gun and started making ice balls of his own. "We're –I'm seeing how this, new arrangement will work," he said uneasily.

"She knows what you do for a living, right?"

"Not the specifics."

Clint shook his head. "It ain't ever gonna work if you don't explain, sir. That's the funny thing about relationships."

"And when did you become an expert on relationships Barton? After your divorce?"

"Fuck you sir," Clint snapped, his cheeks tinged red. "Fuck you very much."

**Christmas '11**

Maybe Barton had had a point, Phil thought as he watched Audrey pack her things together. He lifted one of her bags, carrying it downstairs to the waiting taxi. She was flying back to Portland tonight. They'd only been dating for two years. Or, less than that. He watched her drive away. She said she was tired of never knowing where he was, what he was doing. She understood he was a government agent but she couldn't handle the stress of never knowing if he was coming home in a body bag or not and she'd already had one too many phone calls about his supposed/suspected death in other countries.

Phil… couldn't blame her, really. It was too bad. He missed her, already.

And then, as he stood in front of his apartment building, alone and cold in the snow, his phone rang. There was an emergency and they needed him. At least his job needed him, if no one else did.

**Christmas '12**

Tahiti was a magical place. He remembered hanging Christmas ornaments on a palm tree, just for the novelty of being able to do it.

**Christmas '13**

"Barton's dying," Hill said crisply. "I thought you'd want to know."

Phil almost dropped his phone. "What –what happened?" He swallowed.

"He…" Hill hesitated. "He didn't jump. We don't know why. The building nearly crushed him, but Thor caught half of it and Stark pulled him out."

"Where… where is he now?"

"Phil, you're undercover."

"I don't care!"

Maria sighed. "He's in Phoenix. ICU. They don't think he's going to last the night."

Phoenix, the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility in Kansas. He was currently in Nebraska. "Thank you," Phil said sincerely. "I need to see him."

"I'll deal with Romanov." Maria paused. "I'm sorry Phil."

"He's not dead yet," Phil snapped before he hung up.

He called Melinda to let her know the crew was on holiday before he got Lola ready and took off. It didn't even take him two hours to get to the facility. The facility was for injured and recovering agents going through physical therapy. He'd spent some time here during his recovery. Tahiti wasn't related to Phoenix, thankfully. Unlike most everywhere else in the world, the facility wasn't decked out in holiday decorations. And it wasn't busy. Most recovering agents would have gone home and most of the staff as well, they probably only had a ghost shift on. It was easy to maneuver himself through the halls and make his way to the intensive care unit. It was empty except for one person.

He nodded at the nurses nearby and settled down on one of the visitor's chairs. He set his hand over Clint's. He could remember fifty times they'd done this for each other over the years. They'd sit vigilant for Natasha, for each other. He felt bad about that, about Natasha not being able to be here just so that he could come. But Clint was one of his oldest friends. And the hole in him that never seemed to fully heal, tugged open again with remorse and guilt. One of his biggest fears was that Clint or any of the Avengers would die without knowing the truth, without knowing that Phil was alive. Even though Clint and Natasha were both Level Sevens, they were Avengers, and as such the knowledge of his subsequent revival had been kept from them for the benefit of uniting the Avengers together.

It had to have been eating Clint alive though. He'd been stuck working with Loki when it happened. Phil had sent out a hundred messages, he tried, but to no avail. None of them reached Clint. Someone always intercepted the messages. He wondered if it was Melinda.

"Hey Clint," Phil said softly, squeezing his hand gently. "It's me, Phil." He paused, looking over his friend. The machines were breathing for him, there were tubes everywhere. His face was a collection of bruises and contusions; his body wasn't in much better shape. "I'd hoped when I saw you again, you'd be –healthier." He laughed weakly, ignoring the way his body shook. "Please don't die," he whispered, at long last. "I haven't had a chance to –tell you, that the rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated. That I'm sorry I lied. I wanted to… I tried, Clint, I tried."

"Fury gave me a new team. He let me pick who I could have. It's taken me a year to get used to the fact that you aren't my eyes in the sky anymore. And I brought in another new agent. Her name's Skye. You two would get along well." He smiled weakly. "I hope she never meets Stark, they'd be impossible. And you know Melinda? I, uh, I got her back into the field. It's good to have her back, but nothing ever feels quite right without you or Natasha at my six."

Nothing had felt right for the longest time, but that mystery was solved around the time Raina stuck him in her machine. Clint's heart beat slow and steady, the machine measuring each beat.

"I died, you know that? I was really dead. But they didn't let me stay dead. I'd expressly told Fury not to do it, but… he did it. And I –I just wish I could have used some of that time to at least tell you I was back." He'd missed his friend. "I don't even know how you recovered from Loki, knowing that I was dead." He squeezed Clint's hand once again.

The answer to that question was pretty apparent from Clint's present condition. He hadn't recovered. He wouldn't recover. He'd probably blamed himself for what happened. And maybe he'd just decided to stop delaying the inevitable; maybe that was why he didn't jump. But Phil hoped for all their sakes that wasn't what Clint had done. That it wasn't why Clint had done it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you," he whispered.

He almost missed the light pressure at his hand, but that along with the sudden blaring of every machine and Clint's convulsing body convinced him otherwise. He threw himself out of the way as nurses and doctors ran in, shouting at each other. But one thing stayed in his mind. As he ran out of the way, he saw Clint's blue eyes watching him.

Hours later, sometime after midnight perhaps, Maria called. "He survived the night," she said. And then: "He's asking for you."

"Okay, thank you," he said.

Phil didn't go back. He was too scared to face Clint's wrath. Because there was nothing more awful than begging forgiveness and not receiving it. And Clint had no reason to forgive him, neither did any of the Avengers. Phil had betrayed their fragile trust. And Clint had more reason than most, except maybe Thor, to resent his resurrection. Thor had been the unfortunate witness to the affair.

"Please, tell him, tell him I'm dead," Phil pleaded softly. "It was a dream or a hallucination."

Maria sighed, heavy and disappointed. "You can't listen to Fury forever and Barton won't stay here long. The doctor thinks it's a miracle, he's convinced Barton's going to live."

"He'll come for me, when he's ready," Phil admitted warily. "I understand. Thank you."

**Christmas '14**

"Oh, so this is what you do?" Clint drawled, stretched out on Phil's bed.

Phil froze, keys dangling in suddenly numb fingertips. "You –"

"Yeah, I had a nice long recovery," Clint said icily. "All my friends came to visit. Even Thor. And you know what? Thor lives on another fucking planet and he still came!"

Phil winced, dropping his keys onto the table. "I deserved that," he admitted.

"Fuck you," Clint spat, sitting up. "Fuck you and all your batty heroism, going off to die, being too noble to tell a fucking soul! And then you just –you call up Stark one day, like it's nothing, like you weren't fucking dead!"

That had been necessary as much as he hated having to do it. "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated?" Phil said helplessly, staring at Clint.

"Were you ever actually there?" Clint demanded. "Or was it the morphine? Because if it was the morphine, I'm leaving."

"Please don't," the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Clint sat back down on the bed. "I –yes, I was there."

"Why didn't you stay?" Clint growled. "I asked –I begged for you to stay!"

Phil winced. "I –I didn't want you to be mad. Not when you were recovering."

"I thought you were dead!" Clint cried hoarsely. "I fucking –I thought I'd killed you!"

"No!" Phil gasped. "You weren't even there –"

"I was on that helicarrier, Phil," Clint snarled. "I brought Loki onboard. I told him the schematics, I broke him out, I did everything short of stab his spear through your chest. Through your heart!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"I… I really am." Phil sank to his knees. "There's nothing I've regretted more."

Clint stared at him disbelievingly. And for the first time since he'd gotten home, Phil noticed the dark circles under Clint's eyes, the way his hair was sticking up. His clothes were rumpled and well-worn.

"Why didn't you stay?" he whispered. "I needed you."

"I'm sorry. I –I couldn't. I was sick too, in my own way. Fury's project wasn't without its costs on my mental ability." That wasn't the entire truth though. "I didn't want to –I didn't want to go through this. You're so angry and I don't deserve your forgiveness." He looked up at Clint apologetically. "But I am, I'm so sorry."

Clint pushed himself off the bed, until he was standing on his knees next to Phil. "I've already forgiven you, you idiot," and then he pulled Phil in for a tight hug.

Phil slowly put his arms around Clint, feeling the strength in his muscles. "W-what?"

"I –" And here, Clint stopped speaking entirely.

"What?" Phil asked again, tentatively gliding his hand down Clint's back.

Clint took a deep breath. "I've been in love with you since, since you came and got me from that cave. I thought I was as good as dead. It wasn't like there was anyone out in the world who'd miss me then and you said –you said that you would've missed me." Clint flushed. "I know maybe you didn't –mean it, that way, but it meant. It meant a lot to me."

"I meant it," Phil assured him, thinking back to the moment. "You were a pain in my side, and you were always getting into trouble from someone and I had to go fix the messes. But most of them, you were right. Why do you think Fury assigned you to me in the end?" Phil squeezed his arm gently, pulling away so he could see Clint himself. "I asked him to."

Clint blinked. "You –you did? I didn't know that."

"You are a good agent –one of the best. I didn't want to see you dead or worse because of some incompetent agent who took one look at your file and dismissed what you could do."

Clint looked away. "Oh. 'Course."

"You know, you're my best friend," Phil said thoughtfully. "I've really missed you."

"Me too, sir," Clint said softly, resting his forehead on Phil's shoulder.

Phil paused, slowly bringing his hand up to card his fingers through Clint's soft, fine hair. "If you've been in love with me since then, why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Clint snorted softly. "You're straight. I knew it wasn't going anywhere, even if I told you. But I just –I needed you to know."

Phil frowned. "I'm not straight –why did you think?"

"You're not?" Clint asked, clearly confused. "You've dated exclusively women since we've met. Sam, Riley, Taylor, Audrey…"

"Sam and Taylor are both men," Phil replied amusedly.

Clint stiffened, pulling away from him entirely. "Don't joke with me."

"I'm not," Phil said softly. "I think. I think I've been in love with you for a long time and I just… didn't know."

Actually, looking at it from that perspective, certain events made a lot more sense. He hadn't stayed with Sam, he'd chosen to leave and go deal with the situation instead. He hadn't really liked Sam that much. And Riley had unfortunately met Clint before and when she left, her parting words had been that she refused to stick around to someone who couldn't completely be hers. Phil'd assumed she had been referring to his being a workaholic. Taylor had said that he loved Phil's love for the job but that he refused to share Phil with anyone else. And Audrey had mentioned that she would love to meet Phil's friends, especially Clint, but Phil kept putting it off. Enough to make her start joking that Phil had better not be keeping Clint as his kept man. Phil had thought she'd been joking.

Clint blinked. "Me?" he said. "Why me?"

"You've saved my life, Clint. And you're funny, you can be charming when you want to be, you're full of life and hope and trust even after everything that's happened to you. You're so strong, inside despite wounds that could have crippled you. You always push forward. Even when you think you're about to die, you –you can make smile in the worst circumstance, on the worst day. And I love you for that. I love you for who you are –I don't know how to explain it better," Phil said, giving a small huff of frustration.

"Wow sir," Clint said, grinning at him. "I didn't know your feelings went so deep."

Phil arched a brow. "Did you think I just wanted you because your arms are nice?"

"Hey, hey," Clint protested. "My ass is fantastic. It's not impossible that you might've wanted to have a little experiment, see just how fantastic."

Phil let both of his eyebrows lift at that comment. "Well, I wouldn't know about that."

Clint laughed. "You wanna?"

Phil rolled his eyes, smiling. "Yes, I think I do," and he dragged Clint down into a sweet, chaste kiss.

**Christmas '15**

"Why are we doing this again?" Phil asked, looking up at the arched dome above their heads. "It's asking for trouble."

"Sir, babe," Clint said, reaching over to set his hand over Phil's. "Relax. We're making the holiday season and every holiday season following, about us. That's what we're doing."

"We're going to get attacked," Phil argued. "It's asking for trouble."

"Phil," Clint said exasperated. "You've had decent holidays when I wasn't involved. It's only the ones where we're in it together that things get messy."

Phil looked down at their joined hands. "That isn't making we want to get married more."

Clint grinned. "Well, this way, when we get into something, we'll be getting into it together."

Phil sighed heavily, letting himself relax. "If Hydra attacks…"

"We've got the Avengers and your team," Clint pointed out. "Tony's hired three different justices of the peace and if for some reason they all die, Thor can also bring us together in union. Relax."


End file.
